[ Forehead to forehead is how they rest once sleep pulls the both of them under in its hold. John has no awareness outside of his dreams, the nightmares, that constantly plague him. Creep at his heels and bite at his ankles. He doesn't even know what time it is when he finally starts to come around.
The first thing he does though is groan in complaint at the state of the rest of him. Tense, sore like the whole of him is just one great injury. May as well be after what went down the previous night. Moving seems like a spectacularly bad idea, so he settles for his usual morning meditation. It isn't one he's shared except with Zed. It still isn't one he plans on sharing with Matt.
No one wants to have that on their mind or conscience. The fact that John meditates on losing each and every last person he cares about. That he does it so that when it does happen, it'll soften the blow. Leastways that's the idea.
It never really does do it. It guts him every time. ]
[As tired as he is, he doesn't sleep as long as he would like to. And listening to John breathe as he sleeps would be soothing if he didn't feel so restless. So Matt gets up and calls Foggy. In hushed tones he insists that he's physically well, very tired. A friend needs help. I'm not in trouble, the typical pacification list. Finally off of the phone he starts to sweep up the rubble and glass.
John went out to fight a demon. The fight wasn't over. The demon found John. The demon broke in. John sent the demon back to hell.
Going over it step by step in the most simple of terms doesn't make it anymore comprehensible. Still Matt tries, it's an on going dialogue as he tries to ensure that each and every shard is recovered. Out of habit he keeps trying to make room for a couch that's not there anymore. Fuck. Enough of the mess out of the way he finds duct tape and puts a sheet over the empty space. It cuts the chill a little bit. And he's going to have to find a story that his land lord believes.
How can he do that when he is having a hard time believing it even himself? Walking to the kitchen is an automatic action. He turns on the coffee maker and rests his face in his hands.]
[ Outside of the bedroom, but not quite out of earshot, John can hear Matt clearing up what must be an awful mess from the night before. Usually, he'd prefer a better story to go with all that. Not a hellspawn coming along to try and finish the work it started.
No clever quips are going to make this blow over any easier.
Once John thinks he can try to get to his feet, he slowly starts the process. Elbows first: check. Sit up: going well. He gets his legs over the edge of the bed and has to stop to catch his breath a little. He keeps at it until he can manage to stand.
He's not dizzy and his head isn't complaining too much. The rest of him? Well, he can't stay abed forever. May as well rip that particular bandage off. ]
Doing that well with it all, are we?
[ Still better than others he's seen. A few steps into the living room and he surveys the damage. Quite a number done. Might have to get Chas to dip into the bail fund to help fix with this. There's deep gouges in the floor where the beast tried to fight being drug back into hell.
He can see the rest of the damage to the window and the brick. ]
[He tried not to make noise. Even when he was sure John would be out for a few more hours. Maybe he could slip back in to sleep more after some coffee and something to eat. Being lost in thought a few moments he loses track of John before hearing his voice again. Both hands move from his face, eyes sleepy and clearly tired still too.]
Hey. Should you be up and about?
[Walking to meet him half way, he stands at arm length. He can tell that John is taking in the scene in daylight.]
It's not great.
[The living room he means with a vague gesture around him.]
Wouldn't be the first time its seen some damage
[The crack along the wall from the earthquake was finally repaired a few months ago.]
[ It wasn't Matt's moving around that finally woke him up. Mostly it was the fact that he was too tense and in pain. Only so much he can manage to sleep through in this state. Matt looks knackered still. ]
Probably not. Couldn't stay down though.
[ It's pretty well cleared up, the main damage. Practice or just careful like that, he wonders. Definitely going to call Chas about that money. ]
I can help with the repairs I've got funds set aside. Just got to call my mate Chas to dip into it for us.
[ He takes in Matt's tired and disheveled state. ]
Claire had given me painkillers. I mean, I still have some from the last time. They do the trick but I don't like the sensation.
[The heaviness to his body, the numbness and nausea all together is just not aligned with his sensitivity.]
Thank you that's--that's generous.
[Hurting for money is a lifestyle though Matt wants to turn him down. John could have died. Matt could have died. Putting money over it like a bandage cheapens the threat somehow.]
I can't believe that was real. Any of it.
[The smell of burning sulfur and the awful feeling in his throat and nose as a result. The sound and strangeness to the air all around them. Matt idly rubs his arm and remembers there's a minor wound there. He had forgotten about it.]
All my life I've heard about Heaven and God and how this world and everyone in it is a victim of sin and a few decisions away from damnation... [He pauses to wet his lips.] It never felt this heavy before.
[ John has questions of his own but the ones Matt has seem far more pertinent in the moment. His are mainly curiosities as to the man he spends many evenings lately with. Maybe they'll have time to touch on things later. ]
Least I can do.
[ He isn't hurting for it but he comes by it by unscrupulous means. He works, he never lied about that. He never told him exactly what his job was and that he technically doesn't bet paid for it. At least not until last night. Outside of that he's still unsavory to most. Con artist at heart and good when he needs to be, which is always. ]
If you're not questioning then you're not paying attention.
[ He takes a step closer and reaches out to gently grasp Matt's wounded arm. ]
This is proof of what happened last night. Barmy as it is, you've just had a divine epiphany. It's not an easy thing to stomach. Most people can't manage it well. I---[ He sighs and looks his arm over a moment. They need to sort it for him. ]---I wanted to keep you away from this.
I'm sorry.
[ A rough, bitter sounding chuckle escapes him at mention of damnation. ]
Trust me, takes a bit more than a few lousy decisions to get your pass for the hot place.
[Working could have very well been freelance work for his parlor tricks. Matt never said that out loud but he thought it. If he can glean money from a lottery than it's some sort of trickery, something you can explain. Counting cards or getting algorithms isn't magic. All of that pales to opening up a door to the pit of fire.
He keeps his arm out for John's appraisal. The ash from whatever cinders or sparks flew make the dried blood look blacker. It doesn't help too that Matt is not the most tan person the planet. Pale and lightly freckled Irishman.]
Divine.
[A bitter laugh there, short and confused. Not weeping statues or healed cripples. Broken glass and deep tear marks across John's body and the floor.]
[ Could dress up in a funny costume at kid's parties, sure. Wouldn't put his skills to good use. He'll leave the theatrics for Z. Stage work is something he left behind in his punk rock days. Sure, he can explain the lottery. He gets his numbers from watching rising smoke. It's a bit dodgy, not really an exact science.
Frowning over the wound, he huffs softly and then lets go. ] I can help you sort that if you want.
Divine, yeah. Proof of the existence of heaven and hell. Doesn't get much more able to prove than claw marks in your hardwood.
[ He expects confusion. He expects anger. Denial even. ]
Because this is what I do. This is my life. I can't make up for things that I've already gone and cocked up but I will spend every breath I have making certain that every last demon I can find is sent straight back where it belongs.
[ John figured after the upsetting of the status quo a few weeks back the least he could do was try for a spot of normal for the both of them. It's why he ventured out in the bleeding daylight in the first place and over to Nelson, Page and Murdock to find his man and take him out for a proper lunch on his lunch break. That's plenty normal, isn't it?
He's come in to make himself known to two-thirds of the team. Matt himself is chatting with a client judging by the closed office door and John's good to wait it out. Good things to those who wait is the old saying after all. Matthew Murdock is definitely in the category of good things and John is doing his level best not to cock it all up.
The door to the closed portion of the office opens and an older lady comes toddling out with Matt on her arm to help the old bird stay steady. John has a cigarette between his lips, unlit but ready to spark the second he hits the outside air. He ain't had one yet that morning and he's feeling it something fierce. ]
Johnny, I know that isn't you with that death stick hanging out of your mouth.
[ His heart leaps half out of his chest by his own reckoning and the ciggy nearly falls out of his mouth on top of it. Would've been better for it with how quick the old bird snatches it from him with a speed he didn't figure her for and breaks it there in front of him. ]
Oh, give over Mrs. M you didn't have to go and do all that did you? Got to leave a man at least one bad habit or two.
[ Then he realizes he just went and did all that out loud. With an audience. Now he's gonna have to explain. Bollocks. Maybe he'll get clear of this with little to no scathing. ]
[Matthew is not a brilliant actor. Or even a good liar. And that in of itself has been a hurdle trying to gather himself and what this whole mess means. There's been a buffer of distance. Not too close, not too far. John has been in his orbit. They still have one another's numbers. Is it weakness to prefer to keep contact even if it means in passing with not a promise of more? He has been praying and meditating. While it hurts less to know the truth, there is still the unsettled fragments not yet falling into place.
He can't do more than straighten when he recognizes a heartbeat and gait as it steps into the little office. Their new secretary greets John. He is finishing up with a client and can't divide his attention without being impolite. Settling affairs at her age, it is even more important to keep the client's confidence. It's her future and the legacy passed on to her family. John is, of course, still very distracting. Escorting her from the office was supposed to be the home stretch.
For being eighty three she moves at the Englishman with surprising speed. Matt blinks and Foggy has poked his head out of the office of his own to survey they scene.]
Mrs. Moynahan, I believe this is John Constantine. You know each other?
[ John is on both counts. Can't be a grifter and a con-man if one can't manage to lie through their teeth on the daily. Granted, it doesn't always come down to it. He's tried the straight and narrow way a couple of times. Both times he's ended up in jail. They haven't spoken much or met up aside from a sparse handful of times. He knows Matt is trying to work through all this information on his own.
Corrigan went through much the same. Still dealing with it all as well, he supposes.
The rest of his Silk Cut are tucked safely in his pockets so long as she doesn't go full-nan on him and give him a pat-down for them. John surveys the old woman, Grace but prefers to go by Gracie. She's older than when they last spoke but that had to be nearly five years past at least.
Getting up there, she's sick. It hangs on her in a certain kind of way, same way spirits tend to. Her husband is still hanging around as well. He can see what's left of the ghostly aura he had before. Must have been kind enough not to tromp on in here during all the human business. ]
Of course, I know this young man. He helped me out years ago with my husband---[ John cuts in. Last thing the legal folk need to worry about is how sane the old bat is. ]
---husband's affairs. Mostly moving some old furniture and the like. I was staying nearby, didn't like the idea of her all on her own.
[ More like her husband was a nag worse than she is and wouldn't let him bloody sleep until he went over there to sort it. ]
[The events of nights ago did pierce the veil. Not like John was the only one hiding. Though it hasn't made him unlikable. That would have been easy, it would have been fair. He walks his own line of morality and always teetering. It's a high wire act with more than just law and order.
Matt clears his throat and adjusts his frames.]
He does have his way of getting around, yes. John is a friend of mine.
[That's acceptable to say. Besides any more information there and no one in this room is really going to be ready to deal with the potential awkwardness. He catches the confusion. It's in the air just as suddenly. Grace Moynahan straightens and holds a hand to her chest. Her eighty three year old heart patters and her breath is still at it's shallow little sound. Trying to go for the cigarette was a reflex that she needs a moment to recover from before tuttering.]
No, no. There was--you did--[Matt tilts his head thoughtfully.]
[ That would've been easier, wouldn't it? Now they are here just flitting right outside each other's orbits. Caught up in each other's gravity. Couple of right idiots they are. ]
I was on vacation then.
[ Midnite was looking into running up a club or somesuch up in the Big Apple. Something scared him fierce after New Orleans and John wanted to know just what. He'd found absolutely nothing and just decided to enjoy the tepid city air for a few more days.
He sees her reach up for her chest and reaches out to take an elbow. ]
Easy, there Mrs. M. I'm the one supposed to be having himself issues, yeah? Us and our death sticks.
[ She gives him a look that proclaims that wasn't funny in the least but then pats Matt's arm. ]
Perhaps the both of you could walk me down.
[ Not like that leaves John with much room to argue. ]
[What is he even saying? Matt wets his lips. That was likely a time before their acquaintance. Even if it was he can't be hurt or feel something every single time John says anything about the city. Matt is not New York, the same way that John is not London or magic. Right? Is that even a right assessment?]
We'd be happy to.
[Not missing a beat that John knows that Gracie is not well. And those stairs are a chore.]
No trouble at all.
[Her thin arm clutches at John a moment.]
I'm so lucky to see you again! It's like you knew!
[ Most of his workings are to do with magic and energy and the like. A city this teeming and full of life is good for him lots of times. A magickal recharge of sorts. He can tell Matt is a little put-off and there will likely be some explaining he didn't plan for before they get to lunch. ]
Luck it may be. [ He drops his voice all conspiratorial-like as they leave the office out of earshot of the others. The stairs aren't far and they can take their time. ] Or maybe I did know. Little birdies come in all forms, love.
[ She prattles on as they get to the stairs. Talk of her old flame who passed on. George was his name. Nagged him half to death for a few days at least before John caved. Ended up worth it. Gracie was a beacon of light and good energy all on her own. ]
I keep---keep feeling that my George is nearby. Closer than before. Have you---?
[ John's heartbeat does something funny in his chest. This isn't something that came up before. How was he supposed to be able to bring up ghosts and spirits? ]
No, love, I haven't. You'd be the first to know, though. [ They get down to street-level and he leans in to kiss her forehead. ] Let us get you a cab home, yeah? Enough fussing for one day.
[ He steps away to throw his hand in the air with a sharp whistle hey chief! to draw in a cab. She continues nattering on to Matt as he's away. ]
That John's a good boy. He let me talk to my George again.
I can only guess. I--haven't been anywhere else in my life.
[Energy is right. That feeling, a soul to the place. That's why Matt has loved to be here. Then again, where on earth would he go? It's his home. John doesn't have that. He leaves. Elektra did too.
Woah. Stop there, Matt. He is also halted by matching Gracie's steps. Bit by bit they go. Down, down.
It's unfair to compare one former lover to John. There really isn't anyone like him anyway. On cue, he catches the way his heart goes. A harder, urgent pound. And in that benign, reassuring lawyer way, he smiles as if nothing is happening.
The golden shades of evening spill out over the pavement and buildings. Matt stays close to Gracie, off of the curb and away from any of the late afternoon foot traffic. Not too much on this side of town. Hell's Kitchen thins out after dark on this side.]
Again? [He doesn't insult her grieving or his own intelligence by saying isn't George Moynahan dead?]
[ Despite all odds, things are still going swimmingly. Sure, there's been more than one bump in the road. A misadventure or five maybe. Nevermind all that weirdness with getting tugged into another world altogether where his great great whatever the hells were there.
Still, today isn't the day for all that. No, he has it on good authority (prying it out of Foggy) that Matt might've been run out of the office to go enjoy the day. Thank god for his coworkers at the firm, cause that means he gets to come back to the apartment early enough for the fry up John is working on. Should never have given over a spare key, Matt. ]
[He is just not twenty years old anymore. He can't keep doing this to himself. Burning the night oil either out on the street or just spending the long, lazy hours talking softly and listening to that low, accent speak to him. It's best in person. Last night was just over the phone. It must have been hours, his ear and phone felt hot. Hanging up he wished he wasn't alone in his bed. It felt like not even a full two hours after the alarm went off.
Foggy isn't angry this time, not really. Matt has this look about him. He heard his partner grumble all the same. Goddamn twitterpated Bambi eyes or whatever that means paired with him looking like shit.
"Go home, buddy. I got this one." Foggy Nelson is a goddamn angel. Matt plods home.
Maybe John is still there. Maybe not. He comes and goes. He's no one's. Not Matt's. He keeps telling himself that. Enjoy the ride, be close to him. Be as happy as you want to be. It'll probably not last. He doesn't live in New York.
So color him surprise when the cooking smells are coming from his apartment as he is finally at the landing for his level. The door is unlocked.]
Are you going to rob me or feed me?
[He knows that heart beat. There's no threat. Being blind and all he still has to hold up the feeble charade. John hasn't said shit. He's just...John.]
[ It's impressive that despite all of the bastard things having gone down between them and around them, here they still are. Here John still is, maybe, more than anything. He knows he didn't say anything about dropping in and a job kept him out of state for the better part of a week.
He wasn't even back in Atlanta, either. Just ended up in bugger all New Jersey chasing after some restless spirit some idiot kids brought into their lives and it got nasty. He's still riding the adrenaline high of it all, a heady cocktail of magic and too many smokes.
He offers a rusty laugh when he hears Matt's voice sound through the apartment. ]
You tell me, handsome. I have it on good authority that you need something a bit more substantial on your bones.
[ Says the man who lives off scotch and cigarettes. ]
[The cigarette smoke is a smell he can shake off now. Who would have thought. He blames John. No, he blames himself because he'd forgive John in an instant.
Sucker.
Idiot.
Twitterpated Bambi eyes or whatever that means.
Matt deposits his coat, his bag and cane. He's already loosening his tie as he rounds the corner into the kitchen. The composite view of John standing over his stove is just something to take in. He leans against the doorway and finishes pulling the tie apart.]
Pretty sure I got nothing you don't already have.
[Out of date electronics. His heart. Oops. Matt smiles and shucks of his blazer, he puts it over the chair he knows is not far from him. It still scuffs like he missed the mark. His tie drapes over it.]
Ohh I can't even start with how happy I am to see you.
[ Easier to shake that off than the sulfur and brimstone that sometimes carries on in with him. There shouldn't be any blaming anyone for the moment. Just enjoying whatever they can make of a day like this.
John's just in his regular clothes, loose tie, trousers and white button down with the sleeves up past his elbows. He grins over when Matt rounds the corner, though. ]
Is that so?
[ He grins widely when he says what he does, and he's just as happy to see the other man. Its sounds in his heartbeat, soft as he's gotten thanks to it all. ]
[Matt's smile brightens, no matter how tired he is, he feel a whole flood of good feelings rise up from his chest to his head then just go all over. John's voice sounds best resonating through the kitchen or the bathroom. It's the tiles. Of all the places he could be this is where he is.
His glasses plunk to the table top. Really not a lot of prompting was required. Both arms go around the other man's middle. He presses his face close to his neck and holds him tight.]
Missed you so much.
[With his voice this low, feeling this close he gives him a peck below his ear. Matt doesn't let go, mindful that John's working at the stove he'll simply cling and mold his body as being dressed and standing allows.]
[ It certainly is something, the two of them with all this as they are. He doesn't need to hear what Matt's saying to know he means it. It's all in the way he carries himself. How he approaches.
He leans back as much as he's able while still tending to the stove, chuckling softly. He tilts his face so that his cheek brushes against the top part of Matt's forehead from where he's pressed his face to his neck. ]
Missed you too.
[ There's a small shiver at the kiss and he smiles impossibly wider. ]
[He means it through and through. Breathing in the way his shirt smells, the smoke, the city, this weird mix of herbs and oils...they remind him of a Middle Eastern bodega. Sometimes the spice is heavier than others. Sometimes there's ash or metallic qualities. Matt sighs, enjoying the way each nuance of fragrance makes his nose tingle. He really doesn't care if he's warping into an overgrown, nuzzling puppy.]
Naw. Just.... work being work.
[Matt got into a knock down, drag out brawl with a man two weight classes above his own it seemed like earlier late last week. The swelling and bruises are more memory, he swears he can feel it though. Might have rattled his brain, then working the civil dispute with Foggy.]
Got sent home today. I was told I should get some rest. That hasn't happened in a long time.
[The rest or such a gentle reprimand. Matt's fingers are idle, gently feeling over the starchy fabric of John's button down, it doesn't hide the warmth of his torso or the light contours of muscle and strewn.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
there may come moments when things seem too much
The first thing he does though is groan in complaint at the state of the rest of him. Tense, sore like the whole of him is just one great injury. May as well be after what went down the previous night. Moving seems like a spectacularly bad idea, so he settles for his usual morning meditation. It isn't one he's shared except with Zed. It still isn't one he plans on sharing with Matt.
No one wants to have that on their mind or conscience. The fact that John meditates on losing each and every last person he cares about. That he does it so that when it does happen, it'll soften the blow. Leastways that's the idea.
It never really does do it. It guts him every time. ]
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John went out to fight a demon. The fight wasn't over. The demon found John. The demon broke in. John sent the demon back to hell.
Going over it step by step in the most simple of terms doesn't make it anymore comprehensible. Still Matt tries, it's an on going dialogue as he tries to ensure that each and every shard is recovered. Out of habit he keeps trying to make room for a couch that's not there anymore. Fuck. Enough of the mess out of the way he finds duct tape and puts a sheet over the empty space. It cuts the chill a little bit. And he's going to have to find a story that his land lord believes.
How can he do that when he is having a hard time believing it even himself? Walking to the kitchen is an automatic action. He turns on the coffee maker and rests his face in his hands.]
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No clever quips are going to make this blow over any easier.
Once John thinks he can try to get to his feet, he slowly starts the process. Elbows first: check. Sit up: going well. He gets his legs over the edge of the bed and has to stop to catch his breath a little. He keeps at it until he can manage to stand.
He's not dizzy and his head isn't complaining too much. The rest of him? Well, he can't stay abed forever. May as well rip that particular bandage off. ]
Doing that well with it all, are we?
[ Still better than others he's seen. A few steps into the living room and he surveys the damage. Quite a number done. Might have to get Chas to dip into the bail fund to help fix with this. There's deep gouges in the floor where the beast tried to fight being drug back into hell.
He can see the rest of the damage to the window and the brick. ]
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Hey. Should you be up and about?
[Walking to meet him half way, he stands at arm length. He can tell that John is taking in the scene in daylight.]
It's not great.
[The living room he means with a vague gesture around him.]
Wouldn't be the first time its seen some damage
[The crack along the wall from the earthquake was finally repaired a few months ago.]
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Probably not. Couldn't stay down though.
[ It's pretty well cleared up, the main damage. Practice or just careful like that, he wonders. Definitely going to call Chas about that money. ]
I can help with the repairs I've got funds set aside. Just got to call my mate Chas to dip into it for us.
[ He takes in Matt's tired and disheveled state. ]
How're you holding up?
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[The heaviness to his body, the numbness and nausea all together is just not aligned with his sensitivity.]
Thank you that's--that's generous.
[Hurting for money is a lifestyle though Matt wants to turn him down. John could have died. Matt could have died. Putting money over it like a bandage cheapens the threat somehow.]
I can't believe that was real. Any of it.
[The smell of burning sulfur and the awful feeling in his throat and nose as a result. The sound and strangeness to the air all around them. Matt idly rubs his arm and remembers there's a minor wound there. He had forgotten about it.]
All my life I've heard about Heaven and God and how this world and everyone in it is a victim of sin and a few decisions away from damnation... [He pauses to wet his lips.] It never felt this heavy before.
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Least I can do.
[ He isn't hurting for it but he comes by it by unscrupulous means. He works, he never lied about that. He never told him exactly what his job was and that he technically doesn't bet paid for it. At least not until last night. Outside of that he's still unsavory to most. Con artist at heart and good when he needs to be, which is always. ]
If you're not questioning then you're not paying attention.
[ He takes a step closer and reaches out to gently grasp Matt's wounded arm. ]
This is proof of what happened last night. Barmy as it is, you've just had a divine epiphany. It's not an easy thing to stomach. Most people can't manage it well. I---[ He sighs and looks his arm over a moment. They need to sort it for him. ]---I wanted to keep you away from this.
I'm sorry.
[ A rough, bitter sounding chuckle escapes him at mention of damnation. ]
Trust me, takes a bit more than a few lousy decisions to get your pass for the hot place.
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He keeps his arm out for John's appraisal. The ash from whatever cinders or sparks flew make the dried blood look blacker. It doesn't help too that Matt is not the most tan person the planet. Pale and lightly freckled Irishman.]
Divine.
[A bitter laugh there, short and confused. Not weeping statues or healed cripples. Broken glass and deep tear marks across John's body and the floor.]
Why is this happening? Why you? Why that?
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Frowning over the wound, he huffs softly and then lets go. ] I can help you sort that if you want.
Divine, yeah. Proof of the existence of heaven and hell. Doesn't get much more able to prove than claw marks in your hardwood.
[ He expects confusion. He expects anger. Denial even. ]
Because this is what I do. This is my life. I can't make up for things that I've already gone and cocked up but I will spend every breath I have making certain that every last demon I can find is sent straight back where it belongs.
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and we were all forgiven even though we didn't deserve it
He's come in to make himself known to two-thirds of the team. Matt himself is chatting with a client judging by the closed office door and John's good to wait it out. Good things to those who wait is the old saying after all. Matthew Murdock is definitely in the category of good things and John is doing his level best not to cock it all up.
The door to the closed portion of the office opens and an older lady comes toddling out with Matt on her arm to help the old bird stay steady. John has a cigarette between his lips, unlit but ready to spark the second he hits the outside air. He ain't had one yet that morning and he's feeling it something fierce. ]
Johnny, I know that isn't you with that death stick hanging out of your mouth.
[ His heart leaps half out of his chest by his own reckoning and the ciggy nearly falls out of his mouth on top of it. Would've been better for it with how quick the old bird snatches it from him with a speed he didn't figure her for and breaks it there in front of him. ]
Oh, give over Mrs. M you didn't have to go and do all that did you? Got to leave a man at least one bad habit or two.
[ Then he realizes he just went and did all that out loud. With an audience. Now he's gonna have to explain. Bollocks. Maybe he'll get clear of this with little to no scathing. ]
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He can't do more than straighten when he recognizes a heartbeat and gait as it steps into the little office. Their new secretary greets John. He is finishing up with a client and can't divide his attention without being impolite. Settling affairs at her age, it is even more important to keep the client's confidence. It's her future and the legacy passed on to her family. John is, of course, still very distracting. Escorting her from the office was supposed to be the home stretch.
For being eighty three she moves at the Englishman with surprising speed. Matt blinks and Foggy has poked his head out of the office of his own to survey they scene.]
Mrs. Moynahan, I believe this is John Constantine. You know each other?
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Corrigan went through much the same. Still dealing with it all as well, he supposes.
The rest of his Silk Cut are tucked safely in his pockets so long as she doesn't go full-nan on him and give him a pat-down for them. John surveys the old woman, Grace but prefers to go by Gracie. She's older than when they last spoke but that had to be nearly five years past at least.
Getting up there, she's sick. It hangs on her in a certain kind of way, same way spirits tend to. Her husband is still hanging around as well. He can see what's left of the ghostly aura he had before. Must have been kind enough not to tromp on in here during all the human business. ]
Of course, I know this young man. He helped me out years ago with my husband---[ John cuts in. Last thing the legal folk need to worry about is how sane the old bat is. ]
---husband's affairs. Mostly moving some old furniture and the like. I was staying nearby, didn't like the idea of her all on her own.
[ More like her husband was a nag worse than she is and wouldn't let him bloody sleep until he went over there to sort it. ]
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Matt clears his throat and adjusts his frames.]
He does have his way of getting around, yes. John is a friend of mine.
[That's acceptable to say. Besides any more information there and no one in this room is really going to be ready to deal with the potential awkwardness. He catches the confusion. It's in the air just as suddenly. Grace Moynahan straightens and holds a hand to her chest. Her eighty three year old heart patters and her breath is still at it's shallow little sound. Trying to go for the cigarette was a reflex that she needs a moment to recover from before tuttering.]
No, no. There was--you did--[Matt tilts his head thoughtfully.]
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I was on vacation then.
[ Midnite was looking into running up a club or somesuch up in the Big Apple. Something scared him fierce after New Orleans and John wanted to know just what. He'd found absolutely nothing and just decided to enjoy the tepid city air for a few more days.
He sees her reach up for her chest and reaches out to take an elbow. ]
Easy, there Mrs. M. I'm the one supposed to be having himself issues, yeah? Us and our death sticks.
[ She gives him a look that proclaims that wasn't funny in the least but then pats Matt's arm. ]
Perhaps the both of you could walk me down.
[ Not like that leaves John with much room to argue. ]
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[What is he even saying? Matt wets his lips. That was likely a time before their acquaintance. Even if it was he can't be hurt or feel something every single time John says anything about the city. Matt is not New York, the same way that John is not London or magic. Right? Is that even a right assessment?]
We'd be happy to.
[Not missing a beat that John knows that Gracie is not well. And those stairs are a chore.]
No trouble at all.
[Her thin arm clutches at John a moment.]
I'm so lucky to see you again! It's like you knew!
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[ Most of his workings are to do with magic and energy and the like. A city this teeming and full of life is good for him lots of times. A magickal recharge of sorts. He can tell Matt is a little put-off and there will likely be some explaining he didn't plan for before they get to lunch. ]
Luck it may be. [ He drops his voice all conspiratorial-like as they leave the office out of earshot of the others. The stairs aren't far and they can take their time. ] Or maybe I did know. Little birdies come in all forms, love.
[ She prattles on as they get to the stairs. Talk of her old flame who passed on. George was his name. Nagged him half to death for a few days at least before John caved. Ended up worth it. Gracie was a beacon of light and good energy all on her own. ]
I keep---keep feeling that my George is nearby. Closer than before. Have you---?
[ John's heartbeat does something funny in his chest. This isn't something that came up before. How was he supposed to be able to bring up ghosts and spirits? ]
No, love, I haven't. You'd be the first to know, though. [ They get down to street-level and he leans in to kiss her forehead. ] Let us get you a cab home, yeah? Enough fussing for one day.
[ He steps away to throw his hand in the air with a sharp whistle hey chief! to draw in a cab. She continues nattering on to Matt as he's away. ]
That John's a good boy. He let me talk to my George again.
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[Energy is right. That feeling, a soul to the place. That's why Matt has loved to be here. Then again, where on earth would he go? It's his home. John doesn't have that. He leaves. Elektra did too.
Woah. Stop there, Matt. He is also halted by matching Gracie's steps. Bit by bit they go. Down, down.
It's unfair to compare one former lover to John. There really isn't anyone like him anyway. On cue, he catches the way his heart goes. A harder, urgent pound. And in that benign, reassuring lawyer way, he smiles as if nothing is happening.
The golden shades of evening spill out over the pavement and buildings. Matt stays close to Gracie, off of the curb and away from any of the late afternoon foot traffic. Not too much on this side of town. Hell's Kitchen thins out after dark on this side.]
Again? [He doesn't insult her grieving or his own intelligence by saying isn't George Moynahan dead?]
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we know how it works. the world is no longer mysterious.
Still, today isn't the day for all that. No, he has it on good authority (prying it out of Foggy) that Matt might've been run out of the office to go enjoy the day. Thank god for his coworkers at the firm, cause that means he gets to come back to the apartment early enough for the fry up John is working on. Should never have given over a spare key, Matt. ]
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Foggy isn't angry this time, not really. Matt has this look about him. He heard his partner grumble all the same. Goddamn twitterpated Bambi eyes or whatever that means paired with him looking like shit.
"Go home, buddy. I got this one." Foggy Nelson is a goddamn angel. Matt plods home.
Maybe John is still there. Maybe not. He comes and goes. He's no one's. Not Matt's. He keeps telling himself that. Enjoy the ride, be close to him. Be as happy as you want to be. It'll probably not last. He doesn't live in New York.
So color him surprise when the cooking smells are coming from his apartment as he is finally at the landing for his level. The door is unlocked.]
Are you going to rob me or feed me?
[He knows that heart beat. There's no threat. Being blind and all he still has to hold up the feeble charade. John hasn't said shit. He's just...John.]
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He wasn't even back in Atlanta, either. Just ended up in bugger all New Jersey chasing after some restless spirit some idiot kids brought into their lives and it got nasty. He's still riding the adrenaline high of it all, a heady cocktail of magic and too many smokes.
He offers a rusty laugh when he hears Matt's voice sound through the apartment. ]
You tell me, handsome. I have it on good authority that you need something a bit more substantial on your bones.
[ Says the man who lives off scotch and cigarettes. ]
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Sucker.
Idiot.
Twitterpated Bambi eyes or whatever that means.
Matt deposits his coat, his bag and cane. He's already loosening his tie as he rounds the corner into the kitchen. The composite view of John standing over his stove is just something to take in. He leans against the doorway and finishes pulling the tie apart.]
Pretty sure I got nothing you don't already have.
[Out of date electronics. His heart. Oops. Matt smiles and shucks of his blazer, he puts it over the chair he knows is not far from him. It still scuffs like he missed the mark. His tie drapes over it.]
Ohh I can't even start with how happy I am to see you.
[In the way he can. In the way he does.]
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John's just in his regular clothes, loose tie, trousers and white button down with the sleeves up past his elbows. He grins over when Matt rounds the corner, though. ]
Is that so?
[ He grins widely when he says what he does, and he's just as happy to see the other man. Its sounds in his heartbeat, soft as he's gotten thanks to it all. ]
Why don't you come over here and show us then?
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His glasses plunk to the table top. Really not a lot of prompting was required. Both arms go around the other man's middle. He presses his face close to his neck and holds him tight.]
Missed you so much.
[With his voice this low, feeling this close he gives him a peck below his ear. Matt doesn't let go, mindful that John's working at the stove he'll simply cling and mold his body as being dressed and standing allows.]
Hi, baby.
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He leans back as much as he's able while still tending to the stove, chuckling softly. He tilts his face so that his cheek brushes against the top part of Matt's forehead from where he's pressed his face to his neck. ]
Missed you too.
[ There's a small shiver at the kiss and he smiles impossibly wider. ]
Hello, love. I miss anything good?
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Naw. Just.... work being work.
[Matt got into a knock down, drag out brawl with a man two weight classes above his own it seemed like earlier late last week. The swelling and bruises are more memory, he swears he can feel it though. Might have rattled his brain, then working the civil dispute with Foggy.]
Got sent home today. I was told I should get some rest. That hasn't happened in a long time.
[The rest or such a gentle reprimand. Matt's fingers are idle, gently feeling over the starchy fabric of John's button down, it doesn't hide the warmth of his torso or the light contours of muscle and strewn.]
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